


Of Cost

by quantumvelvet



Category: October Daye Series - Seanan McGuire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 08:43:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13050513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quantumvelvet/pseuds/quantumvelvet
Summary: Quentin pays a visit to the Sea Witch in hopes of heading off the next disaster.





	Of Cost

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kathryne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathryne/gifts).



“One of these days, your parents are going to realize just how badly Toby's fucked up your sense of self-preservation.”

 

Quentin just blinks at her in surprise for a moment, before lifting his shoulders in a shrug that's far more teenager than prince, the line of his mouth twisting in wry agreement. “I brought donuts,” he counters, and holds out the dark red bakery box like it's a sacred offering, eyes wide and earnest in a way that does nothing to mask the determination in them.

 

It's going to be one of  _those_ conversations, then. The ones that remind the Luidaeg that though Eira's get are claimed by Titania, they're also descended from Oberon – and leaves her wondering if her sister's campaign against the Dochas Sidhe isn't at least half meant to prevent them from reminding the rest of that fact.

 

Well, if it is, she's spiteful enough to be inclined to abet Quentin's rebellion – and besides, as offerings go, his is more palatable than most. All the more so because she knows he's brought the treats as a kindness, and not an attempt to anticipate her price. As royals go, he's shockingly honest, and she'd suspect his parents wouldn't thank Toby for  _that_ , either, if she hadn't met the pair of them. They'll teach him court craft once his fosterage is done, and be glad he has a framework to hang it on that's more solid than his self regard.

 

She takes the box with a curt nod, and turns to head into the kitchen, not waiting to see if he follows. The click of the door as he shuts it behind him is proof enough that he's taken the invitation for what it is, and the Luidaeg smiles faintly when she hears him pause to clean his feet on the mat. That, too, is a rare courtesy – few worry about tracking mud into the sea witch's lair, not when the few desperate enough to visit are more worried about leaving blood pooling on the floor if they rouse her temper.

 

He's unusually silent as he follows along behind her, and he studies the kitchen like it's something fascinating rather than a familiar sight, though when she waves him to a seat he takes it without hesitation, and she can breathe a little easier. Whatever's making him recalcitrant – some youthful stupidity? - this isn't a formal visit. Isn't a bargain yet.

 

She sets the box down on the counter and flips it open, snorting in amusement as she studies the contents, before selecting one chocolate donut with half-strips of bacon layered on the icing for herself, and a second with what looks like violet petals on it to set in front of Quentin. “You have until I'm finished to start talking,” she warns, and takes a bite of her own donut to emphasize the point.

 

There's caramel inside, the cloying sugar cut with a hint of salt.  _Humans._

 

“August came to the house the other night,” he says, then pauses to pull his donut apart, precisely along the center line. “She wants her father back.”

 

_Ah._ It's no surprise he's come, then, only that her niece hasn't come with him. There's no doubt that Toby will champion her sister's cause sooner or later – it's as much a part of her nature as the blood she spills at the first opportunity – but she offers a silent thanks to her mother that  _for once_ , the kid is looking to her own needs first.

 

“He knew what he was doing when he made his bargain,” she says. “And no, I'm not going to let you buy his debt. You can't afford it.”

 

Quentin nods, reluctantly, but not like he's surprised. Or, she suspects, all that disappointed. His distaste for Simon Torquill might be secondhand, but it's no weaker for it. He might have come hoping for a solution that will keep his knight and second family safe, but not one involving carrying on the chain of sacrifice.

 

_Good._

 

There's another span of silence, long enough that she's about to threaten to kick him out again when he finally asks, “Could Amandine?”

 

She snorts incredulously at that, and he eyes her in puzzlement until she shakes her head. “Doesn't matter. Amandine doesn't believe in paying for what she wants.”

 

It's an understatement, and the hollow beneath her ribcage aches as she remembers the first time her younger sister asked for something she couldn't just give freely. Remembers that delicate face, still apple-cheeked and lacking the sharp definition of full growth – she can't bring herself to think of it as maturity – screwed up in wounded fury.

 

_I hate you! You're worse than Eira!_

 

How much might have been different if she hadn't, when her sister returned to her – not contrite, but sunny once more – forgiven her immediately, allowed her to think all was undone with just one smile? How much might have been different if she, if all of them, had taught Amandine that her actions had consequences, that while the Winterrose's cruelties were inexcusable, not every refusal or reprisal meant she was a victim?

 

Would she have stood against Blind Michael? Would she have shouldered the burden of her elder daughter's quest? Would she have taught her younger daughter, rather than attempting to twist her into a complacent doll?

 

Or would it have fallen out the same, that bone-deep selfishness as much nature as nurture?

 

Quentin looks no happier than she feels. “She's going to make Toby do it, isn't she?”

 

The Luidaeg shakes her head again. “I doubt she cares.”

 

“But August does. We saw – she'll do anything to make her happy. Eventually, she's going to figure out the only way to do that is to get her dad back.”

 

“Probably.” She cants her head, studying him – and the faint silver thread that stretches past him, split in twain like a fork in the road. “What do you want me to do about it?”

 

He sucks in a sharp breath, then suggests hopefully, “Tell her Toby's off limits?”

 

She laughs at that. “Can't. We're not allowed to interfere with how other First raise their kids, outside of very specific circumstances.”

 

Like the blood of little girls being twisted out of true, splintering centuries of prophecy out of sheer inability to accept that the world changes, and victory without cost only happens in stories.

 

“Then...give me a way to protect Tybalt and Jazz. And Raj,” he adds hastily, and though she wants to weep at the request, a part of her burns with fierce pride as he finds the obvious weakness in it himself. “Please.”

 

“It'll cost you,” she warns.

 

“I know. But they're my family too.”

 

She nods, and points to his plate. “Eat your donut. And call your knight. You aren't old enough to make this kind of deal without adult supervision.”

 

He squirms in his seat, glancing away. “She isn't going to be happy.”

 

The Luidaeg shrugs, and pops the last of her own donut into her mouth. “Consider that part of the cost.”

 


End file.
